Page 82 of Of Curses and Courtship

“That’s fine.” Emyr rubs his temples, letting out a harsh sigh. “It’s confirmed what we already know. The only way to break a curse is to convince the one who cast it to release it, kill the caster, or follow the prophecy.”

“Then you must marry Minetta,” Tibalt says. “It’s final. Nothing to be done.”

Irritation flickers across Emyr’s features.

I push away the envy that threatens to wrap its claws around my neck. “What about the sorceress? Has anyone tried to find her?”

“We’ve tried for decades,” Tibalt says. “It’s impossible. She doesn’t want to be found. Do you know her tale, Miss Ophelia?”

I shake my head. I’ve heard of the sorceress, of course, and accounts of the prophecy. According to the prophecy, a sorceress is meant to help—whether it is the same one who cast the curse or another is up to interpretation.

“Before he married,” Tibalt says, “the king fell in love with a woman—a mortal. A witch. His parents wouldn’t allow them to marry.”

“But why not?”

“Because she was not royal, nor was she a fae,” Emyr mutters. “The difference in lifespans. There are reasons such courtships are rare. So, he married my mother. Poor thing—both of them, the witch and my mother. If it weren’t for my father being such a rake?—”

“The point is,” Tibalt says, “the witch became a sorceress. I assume you know the process.”

I know of the lives a witch must take and the deeds she must do to bind her soul to a devil, giving her eternal life—or something close. There’s a reason most witches don’t become sorcerers. I shudder at the thought. “To live a long, soulless life in favor of great power. Yes, I know of it.”

“Well, with her newfound power, she cursed my father’s land,” Emyr says. “The terms were clear. The fae of our land will grow violent and corrupt, killing one another for sport, until a sun prince is allowed to marry for true love.”

But Emyr is not marrying for true love, is he? He doesn’t say it aloud, but I recall our past conversations, and they all lead in the same direction…

If he marries Princess Minetta without falling in love with her, the Sun Palace will never be free. Helena will always live in darkness, and the common fae will continue succumbing to the shadow. My heart falls as if it were dropped from the highest tower.

“That’s horrible,” I utter.

What else is there to say?

It’s hard to say who makes me sicker—the sorceress or the king. If he had been gentler with the heart of a mortal, she wouldn’t have turned so sour. Then again, if the sorceress had reacted to heartbreak in another way, we wouldn’t be here at all.

Beneath it all, I am to blame. I must tell Emyr the truth. He must know who Minetta is—and who she is not.

“We don’t know why she made it so”—Emyr runs his fingers through his hair—“so easy to break the curse. Or perhaps she didn’t. None of this feels particularly easy.”

Tibalt scoffs. “Can’t be easy to find true love when we aren’t sure it exists.”

“A valuable point,” I say.

For Tibalt is right. I know with great confidence that Emyr doesn’t love Minetta, but perhaps he couldn’t love at all. I believed I was in love once, and she cast me from Far Water, like anyone else.

Perhaps the curse is impossible to break.

“Either way,” Emyr says, “the message is clear. She wishes to teach my father a lesson, but has done the opposite. He’s learned nothing.”

“Mhm,” Tibalt says.

I lean in, gripping the wooden table. “What do you mean?”

“The scorned sorceress tried to teach my father that true love conquers all, and that marriage shouldn’t be rushed.” Emyr lifts a shoulder. “But that has only caused him to rushmeto marry.”

Emyr’s marriage to Minetta will not save him. He and I almost kissed last night. He doesn’t run to Minetta for comfort. He runs to me, or to Tibalt.

More than anything, Princess Minetta has lied to him—and I have a feeling Emyr is keeping secrets from her, too. Does she know about our friendship? Our nights in taverns? Will she learn that we nearly kissed?

What this prince and princess share isn’t true love, and the burden of knowing crushes my spirit.